


fool's gold

by clarkedarling



Category: Sanditon (TV 2019)
Genre: F/M, Fantasy, HEA, Pirates AU, forgive a girl for indulging a guilty pleasure
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:02:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23596540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarkedarling/pseuds/clarkedarling
Summary: fate pushes charlotte heywood, a naive young nanny, into the path of sidney parker, a man unlike any other. she is left with the choice; follow him along his madcap, incredibly dangerous adventure, or run as fast as possible in the opposite direction.
Relationships: Charlotte Heywood/Sidney Parker
Comments: 54
Kudos: 151





	1. all aboard

**Author's Note:**

> hi! so i've been binge-watching all the pirates of the caribbean films, and this is the result. i hope people are interested to read this, as i'm so excited to start writing!
> 
> please enjoy, and let me know what you think!
> 
> also, as a sidenote, i haven't given up on 'to be so lonely', you can expect an update on that swiftly!

**_February 21st, 1718  
Portsmouth Docks, U. K._ **

The weather, as usual, was bleak. Not ideal conditions for wishing friends and family farewell; the miserable climate only adds to the misery of the situation.

Busily bustling around were crew members of the HMS Trustworthy, hauling aboard cargo and enough provisions to last them the month long journey. Their neatly pressed uniforms, the recognisable ruby red colour, stood out amongst the drab and dirty beige attire of the other dockhands milling around the harbour.

"Grey clouds don’t bode well,” muttered Mary Parker under her breath, clutching her bonnet as she looked up to the sky, her brow creased into a trembling line of worry.

Her husband scoffed and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “My dear, the elements are on our side, I assure you,” he told her, in a matter-of-fact tone that suggested he knew a thing or two about ideal sailing conditions; he didn’t.

Mary looked to her children, lined up in front of her like soldiers ready to march into battle - the thought made her lip wobble. They had all been dressed smartly, even baby James despite him being the only one to stay behind in his mother’s care, and she had even insisted the maid make a proper effort with the girls hair, curling the soft little locks into elaborate shapes. Reaching out to stroke her eldest’s cheek, she did her best to hold in a whimper.

“Now, be good my little angels,” she instructed. “You’ll have to look after one another. No teasing your sisters, Henry, and girls you mustn’t leave him out of things. Don’t go upsetting the crew either, they have work to do. One more thing - "

Tom Parker chuckled, heartily. Clearly he was finding it much easier to say goodbye than his wife was. “It’s an adventure, children!” he exclaimed, making their eyes widen with excitement. “Think of all the marvellous things you’ll see!”

“Like mermaids!” Jenny gasped, bobbing back and forth on the heels of her feet.

Shaking his head, Tom laughed. “Now, dear, there’s no such thing as mermaids,” he informed her. His wife elbowed him in the ribs, sharply, scolding him for spoiling their daughter’s imagination. “But if you’re lucky you might be able to spot some dolphins! Or even a shark or two!”

A booming voice from aboard the ship signalled that it was time for everyone to board, including the Parker children. Hurriedly, Mary swept her children into another hug, this time not wasting time fretting over how tight her grip was. Kissing them each atop their heads, she bid them a safe passage, and reminded them of how much she loved them. Next came Georgiana Lambe, who despite her grand old age of nineteen, didn’t mind affection now and then.

“Be safe, my dear,” Mary said with a smile, tears beginning to spill down her cheeks. “We’ll miss you an awful lot. Write to us, everyday, for my sake.”

Georgiana, who hadn’t experienced a mother’s love firsthand until she met Mary Parker, was close to tears herself. “I promise. Thank you, for everything.”

Finally, Mary turned to the children’s nanny, Charlotte Heywood. Employed just over two years ago, she had become an honorary Parker in no time. The children simply adored her, and there wasn’t a place they went that she didn’t, including halfway across the world to the Caribbean. Without hesitation or consideration of social status, Mary threw her arms around Charlotte.

“They’ll be alright with me, Mrs Parker,” the young nanny vowed. “You can trust me.”

“Oh, I know I can,” Mary replied, with a bright smile. “You’re part of the family now, sweet Charlotte.”

A secondary call from the ship sent them into action, the children racing up the gangway, eager to board their very first ship. A magnificent first ship it was too, built from 60 acres of oak trees, elaborately gilded, it’s figurehead a wonderfully carved depiction of Helen of Troy.

Georgiana and Charlotte took the hands of the little ones as they climbed aboard, and turned to wave back at Tom and Mary. Jenny started to sniff, a sure sign she was about to cry. Quickly, Charlotte squeezed her hand. “You’ll be seeing them soon,” she reminded her. “They’ll be with us in no more than a couple of months. Time is going to fly by!”

Though not quite convinced, Jenny seemed more content, her eyes drying.

“You must be the Parker clan!” came the voice of a man behind them. They swivelled to face him, finding themselves stood with an extremely tall man in a distinguished uniform. His smile was Cheshire cat-like, and he sauntered towards them with such self-importance that Charlotte was instantly wary of him. “I’m Commodore Denham, the captain of HMS Trustworthy.” He paused, as though expecting a round of applause. “I should like to take this moment before we set sail to remind you that we have a duty to fulfil, and while you are more than welcome aboard we are not here to tend to your every whim.” He glanced down at the children, his lip curling up slightly, as though they were something dredged up from the bottom of the ocean.

“No need, I’m here as their guardian and nanny,” Charlotte explained, introducing herself. “Anything that needs to be done I’m certain I can accomplish without troubling you or your crew.”

Commodore Denham began drinking her in, his eyes raking up and down her in such a lascivious manner that made her skin crawl. “That isn’t to say, Miss, that if there is anything I could do to make your voyage more _pleasurable_ , than I will of course see what I can do to _service you_ in any way I can.”

His double entendres made her blush, no doubt the intended effect. He tipped his hat at her, then skulked back to bark orders at some poor crew members. 

She glanced across at Georgiana, the pair of them bursting into a fit of giggles that they had been suppressing. “What a horrid man,” Georgiana shuddered, as they walked to the side of the boat. Down below a crowd had gathered along the shore to watch the Royal Navy’s newest pride and joy sail away to hotter climates.

“Are you looking forward to going the Bananas, Lottie?” Alicia inquired, as she waved enthusiastically to the onlookers.

Charlotte chuckled at the butchering of ’the Bahamas’, and nodded. “I can hardly contain my excitement,” she replied, beaming from ear to ear. It was true, she had been restless for months after discovering where Tom’s latest business venture was taking them. She’s devoured all the books she could find about the Caribbean, even raiding Georgiana’s own collection, eager to know everything there was to know.

Tom had bought land just outside Nassau, in the Bahamas. It had been at a reasonable price in an auction, and once the idea of building a grand hotel in the Caribbean had popped in his head, even just the mere kernel of an idea, he had been able to stop himself from raising his paddle. Four months later, he had made arrangements to send his children first to the island, whilst he and his wife tied up loose ends in England, with plans to meet them later the next month.

“Who is it we’re staying with again?” Georgiana suddenly asked, frowning.

Charlotte’s brain began whirling. “An elderly woman, Lady Denham . . . " The two of them groaned as they hastily turned to look at their captain once more. “A relative, I presume.”

“That’s not a good sign,” Georgiana sighed. “How odious do you think she is?”

-

Two eager crew members, both young enough to have still needed schooling, directed the Parker clan to their cabins. They were allotted two rooms, adjacent to one another. Charlotte was stunned at how cosy they were, given the circumstances - she had half expected hammocks. The three children were to share one room, leaving their nanny and Georgiana to share the other. Each the size of a stable, Charlotte noted that while it was modest, it was still bigger than her childhood bedroom.

Georgiana was contented to settle herself in, whilst the children were keen to roam about on deck. Charlotte accompanied them back up the stairs, and instructed them not to wander off too far and to not get in anybody’s way.

She leant against the railing, watching as England faded into the horizon, becoming a speck of mossy green amongst the palette of greys; the lead coloured sky, the slate coloured sea. The sea breeze rippled through her hair, which she’d foolishly left down, causing chestnut brown locks to fly wildly about her face. The salty sea air was ripe on her tongue, tangy and pungent. Despite all the little discomforts, she felt an overwhelming sense of adventure grip ahold of her, a surge of butterflies raging inside her stomach, her heartbeat racing. Leaving England for a tropical new country, a whole ocean away, was the most exciting thing to ever happen to her.

A sudden gust of wind took her by surprise, whisking her straw shepherdess hat off her head. Turning to see where it would land, Charlotte was caught off guard by a young sailor who had manage to seize her hat before it blew overboard. As he approached her, she couldn’t help but notice how charming his smile was.

“This must be yours, my lady,” he said as he held out her hat, politely. His accent was a heavy Bristolian, husky too. It made her somewhat giddy.

She took it, gladly. “I can’t imagine it belongs to any of your fellow soldiers,” she replied, nervously. Talking to the opposite sex wasn’t something that fazed her; talking to handsome men however, was still something she was struggling to navigate.

Fortunately, he laughed, heartily, allowing her to ease a little. “I’m James Stringer,” he introduced himself, stepping closer. His hair was uncommonly short, half-hidden under a cap, and he was clean-shaven too.

“I’m Charlotte Heywood,” she said with a smile, holding out her hand.

At first James regarded the gesture with a furrowed brow, and she thought she had offended him somehow. Despite working for the Parkers for nigh on two years, she was still learning how to behave like an upper class lady. However, James quickly beamed back and shook her hand, his own calloused digits warm under her touch.

As she opened her mouth to say something, a flash of blonde hair out of the corner of her eye distracted her. Henry was racing from one side of the boat to the other, starboard to port, counting his laps proudly. Whilst he was impressively nimble and speedy, he was also at danger of tripping over one of the many ropes lying on the deck, or worse - toppling overboard. “Careful, Henry!” she called out, her voice barely carrying over the wind. “Mind you don’t stumble.”

James followed her gaze, and narrowed his eyes. “Their sister?” he inquired, nodding at Henry and the girls. He paused. “Mother?”

Charlotte gave a mock gasp. “Heaven’s no,” she shook her head. “Simply a humble nanny.”

“And you’ve been entrusted to escort a whole brood of children across the Atlantic Ocean? You must be an excellent nanny.”

She blushed, never one to take compliments easily. “It’s no mean feat,” she quickly dismissed. “I’m hardly paddling a boat all the way there, I am merely stopping them from going overboard.”

James laughed, a jovial sound she was quickly growing to relish. “Well, if you should need anything at all, Miss Heywood, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose - "

“Please, impose away,” he reassured her, his eyes bright. “Just the sight of you everyday is going to make this voyage a hundred times more bearable.”

With a tip of his head, James returned back to work, leaving a speechless Charlotte, who was blushing furiously.

“Who was that?” asked Georgiana, with a knowing glance at her friend. She had reemerged from below deck, no doubt where she had already claimed the bed with the coveted view out of the window.

Charlotte prayed that she could pass off the rosy colour to her cheeks as a nasty side effect of the wind, though knew Georgiana could see right through it. “James Stringer,” she answered, willing her voice to remain steady, unyielding. “A very polite sailor who returned my hat back to me.”

Georgiana raised an eyebrow, a smirk already playing her lips. “How is it you possess a certain power to make men just fall at your feet, and yet you are so unaware of it?” she sighed, looping her arm through Charlotte’s.

“Men don’t fall at my feet.”

“That slimy captain, and now Mr Stringer,” she pointed out. “We’ve only been onboard an hour, and already the sailors are scheming ways to trap you in conversation. You may not see the effect you have over men, Lottie, but I do.”

Charlotte frowned. “I think you overestimate my influence,” she muttered. Unmarried at twenty-two, among some circles she was practically a spinster - not that she was actively seeking a husband. “Besides, was it not you I saw fending off suitors at that ball over Christmas? Men were practically drooling over you.”

“It was my money they were drooling over, not me,” Georgiana replied, with a thin-lipped smile. “I am entirely the wrong sort of girl for most men. Too opinionated too headstrong, too black.” She spoke with a confidence that Charlotte would have been a fool not to admire. She said those words not as if they were an insult, which some may have taken to mean, but as though they were badges she wore with pride.

Charlotte squeezed her arm in a sweet gesture of comfort. “You are a beautiful, self-assured young woman who knows exactly the type of love she is worth,” she told her, sincerely. “The right man is going to worship the ground you walk on, mark my words.”

Georgiana rested her head on Charlotte’s shoulder, as they watched England vanish from view. “May God forgive the men who wish to marry us,” she exhaled. “They’re going to need all the help they can get.”


	2. an impending storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a storm threatens to derail charlotte and the parker children's journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for the response, i'm so glad people are actually interested in this concept!
> 
> enjoy! let me know what you think.

**_March 14th, 1718  
Somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean_ **

Charlotte couldn’t prove it, but she was certain Georgiana was cheating. Seven times in a row now she had won the game, her hand of cards impeccable. Charlotte hadn’t even come close to beating her, despite her best efforts.

Narrowing her eyes, she watched as Georgiana pulled another card from the deck. She was watching keenly for any sleight of hand, though spotted nothing sneaky. Meeting her glance, Georgiana smirked. “Do you suspect foul play?”

Feeling as though she had been caught herself doing something underhand, Charlotte shook her head slowly and pulled her cards closer to her chest. “Of course not,” she muttered, her precarious tone giving her dishonesty away. She sighed. “Every time you’ve managed to find the Jack, and the suits either side. Every time!”

Most people would have been offended to be accused of something they weren’t doing. They would have hit the roof. Georgiana, however, merely giggled. “It’s a trick I was taught,” she admitted, beaming from ear to ear. She was glad that her ruse had succeeded in vexing her friend. “To distract your opponent, make them _think_ that you’re cheating, when really all you're doing is causing them to make all the wrong moves.”

Most people also would have been furious to have been deceived and manipulated in such a way. As has become apparent, Charlotte and Georgiana were not like most people. Charlotte, for example, thought that they trick was a stroke of genius, and intended to try it out next time she played a round of cards.

“Did you learn that at school?”

Georgiana’s smile faltered, only for a second, and a wistful glint flashed in her eye. “No. Sidney taught it to me.”

Charlotte would always tread lightly with Sidney Parker’s name, never sure of the right things to say. He had been the second eldest Parker sibling, and Georgiana’s short-lived guardian. When he was nineteen he disappeared on an internship to Antigua, where he worked for a very affluent Lord Lambe. Five years he lived and worked on a sugar cane plantation, accumulating quite a fortune. When Lord Lambe died, he gave Sidney custody of his only daughter. For the first time since his decampment, he returned back to England to place Georgiana in boarding school, then returned swiftly back to the Caribbean. However, disaster struck on his voyage home and the ship he had been sailing on was wrecked during a horrendous storm. There had been no survivors.

Five years later, his family had, understandably, yet to come to terms with his death, meaning his name was rarely spoken in the household. Having never met the man and knowing very little about him, Charlotte never quite knew what to say on the rare occasion he was mentioned.

“The last time I had made this journey, across the sea, he had been with me,” Georgiana reminisced. She had a faraway look in her eye, so Charlotte didn’t want to interrupt, not even to rest a gentle hand atop hers in an effort to comfort her. “I had never been on a boat before and was getting a little seasick, so he invented countless ways to make me feel better; read me stories, showed me the constellations, taught me card games. This - " she gestured to the table in front of her “ - had been our favourite. When he showed me his trick, he told me he loved it because it was he loved any excuse to feel like he was breaking the rules, even when he wasn’t.” A cascade of tears began to fall down her cheeks, as she tried to stop her lip from wobbling profusely. “I miss him, so much.”

Now Charlotte deemed a good time to wrap her arms around Georgiana and envelop her in a tight, consoling hug. She rubbed her hand in small circles on her back, the same way her mother had done when she was a child and had grazed her knee - not a comparable pain, but a soothing gesture never the less.

“He sounds like he was a remarkable man,” she said, still holding her friend. “I wish I had met him.”

At this Georgiana gave a surprising laugh. “You two would have strangled one another had you been in a room long enough,” she teased - at least, Charlotte assumed she was teasing. “Sidney was remarkable, yes, but he was also far too stubborn and bullheaded, just like you. The pair of you would have clashed horns over the slightest of matters.”

Pulling back, Charlotte cocked her head. “I am not stubborn or bullheaded!”

“Exactly something somebody who _is_ stubborn and bullheaded would say.”

They fell about laughing, the laughter like a tonic to Georgiana, who composed herself gracefully, dabbing at her eyes with a delicate cotton handkerchief. “It’s strange, being on this boat, making the journey home, it reminds me so much of him,” she admitted.

“You’re a grown woman now, going back to your home country for the first time in five years, of course you’re going to be reminded of the man who brought you to England. He was an important part of your life, it’s only natural that you still think of him. I can see that you cared for him, deeply, and no man would go through all that effort to ensure you had a good life if he didn’t care for you too.”

“I did care for him. A lot.” Tears were threatening to spill again.

“If you ever want to talk about him, know that I am always here for you,” Charlotte promised.

Georgiana leapt forward in her seat again and wrapped her arms around Charlotte. “Oh Lottie, you are the dearest friend I could have ever hoped for,” she exclaimed.

“Even if I am stubborn and bullheaded?”

The erupted into a fit of laughter again and remained that way until dinner, their amusement trickling down the corridor and up on deck, where the sailors delighted to hear such lovely voices.

-

Three weeks had passed since they had set foot on dry land, and the novelty of being on a grand ship had worn off on day two for the Parker children. Henry, in particular, who found it difficult to sit still during the Sunday morning carriage ride to church at the best of times, was going stir crazy. One day Charlotte, unwisely, suggested a game of hide and seek. She quickly discovered what a terrible idea that had been when ten minutes into the game she spotted Henry climbing up to the crows nest.

Instead, one of the crew members had fashioned a little ball, no bigger than her palm, out of spare rope, and she and the children were playing a rather enjoyable round of catch. Henry, over eager as usual, threw the ball far too wide. Charlotte chased after it, only to watch it roll towards Commodore Denham. Suppressing a groan, she hoped their exchange would be as brief and as painless as possible.

“Ah, Miss Heywood,” he greeted, his air of snobbery as thick as ever. “Well met.” His eyes followed hers towards the ball, where he bent down and snatched it up. As he tossed it up and down, he leered down his nose at her - she quickly realised he was, as expected, gazing down at her bosom. “Is this yours?”

She nodded, holding out her hand. The way his eyes were raking over her made her skin crawl. “Thank you for retrieving it for me.” All he had done was pick it up, but it was better to boost his ego than be curt with him; she had been warned by plenty of the crew of their captain’s tumultuous and ever-changing temper.

He still hadn’t given her the ball back. “I say, I haven’t seen as much of you as I had hoped,” he said through a smarmy grin. “If you catch my drift.”

It was another one of his repulsive double entendres, insinuating he hadn’t seen her without her clothes on. Fortunately, Charlotte was ill-experienced and innocent, so whilst she knew that his comment was vulgar, she hadn’t deciphered it just yet. Instead, she tried to ignore it. “I’ve been awfully busy with the children - “

“Surely you have your evenings free?” he interrupted, taking a step closer to her. Commodore Denham was very clearly unaccustomed to pursuing women as relentlessly as he had been chasing Charlotte, and his patience was wearing thin.

“Not really,” she replied, slowly. His nearness was putting her at unease, especially with him being so much taller than, nearly six inches. His uniform reeked of sour sweat and the eye-watering cologne he had used to try and hide it. “I share a room, you see.”

His eyes flashed devilishly. “My quarters are only a few short paces from yours.”

And there it was; an outright invitation to his bedchambers. Charlotte was utterly speechless. Of course she wanted to refuse him, turn him down immediately, but the crew’s warning rang in her ears; beware his temper. That left her with a tricky ultimatum. There was no way she was going to say yes and, God forbid, take him up on his offer, but she couldn’t deny him outright.

Unsure of how to manoeuvre the situation, she was over the moon to spot James Stringer approaching them. “Sir,” he began, standing to attention.

“What is it, Stringer?” snapped Commodore Denham. A taste of his temperament.

“The winds have changed direction. Our course needs to be recalculated to factor in the - “

“Are you telling me how to captain my own ship?”

“No sir. I wouldn’t dare, sir.”

With a huff, Commodore Denham stomped away, barking unnecessary orders at undeserving sailors. He had dropped the ball onto the deck, at James’s feet. He picked it up and held it out for Charlotte, who took it with a large sigh of relief. “You looked like you needed saving,” he shrugged, with a lopsided grin.

Their fingertips brushed. Throughout the journey they had shared many a conversation, always making time for one another. Charlotte was certain that she was developing an affinity for James, perhaps even a certain affection. He was nice, polite, and had a smile that made her feel warm.

“Thank you,” she said, with a bright smile.

Suddenly, James seemed very anxious, rocking back and forth on the backs of his heels. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” he began, not really meeting her eye. "I wondered - "

Before he could say anything else, an impatient Henry came bounding over. “I’ve been waiting for hours!” he whined, hands on his hip. Had he been any older, she would have scolded him for such poor manners. However, he was only two years old, so his poor concept of time was forgiven.

“Well, come on then,” she chuckled. “I can’t keep you waiting any longer.” She took Henry’s hand, and flashed James another beam over her shoulder. “I’ll see you later. We can finish our chat then.”

James gave her a strained smile, and she was concerned that she had upset him. However, she couldn’t fret too much about it, as a earsplitting crack! echoed in the sky above them. Thunder was rumbling, lighting sure to follow. Grey clouds, angrier than she’d ever seen them, had rolled over, blocking out the midday sun. The air was sticky, her skin clammy under her dress.

“Best to head inside, Miss,” James advised. “There’s sure to be rain soon.”

Doing as she was told, Charlotte instructed the children to head down towards her room, where they could all be occupied by a game of snap.

-

Even below deck the effects of the storm raging on above were intense. Charlotte was doing her best to distract the little ones, however it quickly became difficult when the relentless waves began to crash on their window. The creaking of the boat was enough to send her nerves skyrocket, every groan and squeak hinting at the ship’s unlikely, though not unheard of, demise.

Georgiana, who was the only one to have stepped foot on a boat the immense size of the HMS Trustworthy before, seemed the most undaunted, trying her hardest to keep everyone’s spirits up.

They were all huddled on the floor in a neat little circle when they heard footsteps race past the door, the sailors’s calls to man various parts of the boat echoing down the hall. Quickly, Charlotte jumped to her feet and patted the beds, asking the children nicely to climb under the sheets.

“Let’s get all cosy,” she suggested. “I can tell you another fairytale, if you’d like.”

Alicia, her lips wobbling and teeth chattering, clambered in first. She was clutching her doll tightly as though afraid she would run away if she loosened her grip. “Can it be about mermaids?”

The girls had had a fixation on mermaids since they’d stepped foot on the boat. Once or twice they had even claimed to see one swimming idly alongside the boat.

Charlotte smiled, and placed a hand to the girl’s shoulder. “Of course it can. All the best stories are about mermaids.”

Jenny got in beside Alicia, and Charlotte turned to lift Henry up, when she realised the door was open, and he was nowhere to be seen. Georgiana had been busy pulling the curtains and hadn’t seen where he had gone. As to not alarm the girls, Charlotte calmly told Georgiana to stay in the room whilst she went to find Henry.

The second she left the room she allowed herself to panic. The boat was rocking back and forth ferociously, knocking her a couple of times into the narrow walls. Little Henry, barely the size of a footstool, was going to have great difficulty staying on his feet. There was also the matter of all the soldiers running around, to preoccupied with preventing the ship from capsizing to watch out for a two year old toddler.

She hauled herself to the top deck, and was immediately met with an onslaught of torrential rain and harsh wind. Her hair plastered to her face, water blurring her vision, she began to call out Henry’s name. Her voice was barely a whisper over the sound of the thunder, as well as the hustle and bustle of the crew.

“Miss, what are you doing?” James cried, bounding over to her, eyes wide. He was drenched and had a nasty cut along his arm.

“I’m looking for Henry!” she exclaimed, frantically turning left and right.

James suddenly pointed over her shoulder. “There!”

She turned and spotted Henry, seemingly unfazed by all the chaos around him, watching the lighting bolts streak across the sky with slack-jawed fascination. Calling out to him, he didn’t hear her. Nor did he hear the splintering of the mast above him, as it began to plummet towards him in terrifying slow-motion. Without hesitation, Charlotte sprinted across deck and hauled him out of the way, wrapping her arms around his tiny body, shielding him from harm.

“You’re safe,” she muttered, repeatedly, the pair of them curled up on the wooden floorboards. Rain beating down on them, she could feel Henry shivering in her arms, his head buried in the crook of her neck.

Just when she thought they were in the clear, she felt herself sliding backwards. The boat had hit an insurmountable tidal wave, and was practically vertical. Barrels, crates and other assorted cargo began streaming past her, as she struggled to find something solid to hold onto. The crew were all clinging to the side, James watching in fear as she and tumbled down.

Suddenly, she found a footing on a lopsided cannon, and held onto the railings with one hand. She glanced down to spot Henry, still glued to her chest, his eyes screwed shut. She prayed that she had enough strength to remain like that until the boat made it through to the other side of the wave, though could already feel her fingertips slipping.

To her shock, she saw James and another crew member, one who always took the time to tip his cap her way, carefully climbing down to meet them. James held out his hand, and without a moment’s pause Charlotte hoisted Henry up so that he’d be rescued first. She watched as James pulled Henry towards him, then passed him over to the other sailor who kept a firm arm around the child. With her selfless act, she used up her last bit of energy. Exhausted and aching, she lost her grip on the railing.

Hastily, James began shouting, pleading with her to take his hand. Charlotte tried, with all her might, to reach him, but couldn’t. One last effort, extending her hand as far as it could possibly go, caused her to slip on the cannon, a large gust of wind blowing her backwards. She toppled backwards, as James screamed after her. The last thing she saw was his devastation and horror as she plunged into the icy water, immediately rendered unconscious by the force, consumed by the waves.


	3. seagulls, sunburn and survival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> charlotte is found floating in the water, but is it really a rescue when pirates are involved?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for the wonderful comments so far! i'm still fortunate enough to be working at the moment, so i'm not getting as much writing done as i'd have liked, so i hope you can bear with me on the updates.
> 
> enjoy!

Sheer determination had kept Charlotte alive for so long.

Thanks to her experience in Sanditon, she was an adept swimmer, managing to keep herself afloat long enough until a piece of the drifting mast, the same one that had threatened Henry's life earlier, came into view. Clinging on, the water lukewarm and the sun beating down on her, she drifted in and out of stages of consciousness. Her gown was weighing her down, and did little to protect from the harsh sun rays, her skin searing in the scorching heat.

Her gown had once been one of her most prized possessions. It had been a gift from her dearest friend Lady Susan in London, bought for her to match her beloved sapphire coloured shoes. It was at the height of fashion, a white cotton Chintz dress, adorned with a bouquet of blue blooms; hyacinths, bluebells, lavender and the like. Now, she would have gladly given it away in a heartbeat for refuge.

No land in sight, with no clue where she was, she’d quickly dismissed the idea of swimming in search of refuge, preserving the little strength she had left to hold on.

Other assorted debris from the ship floated around her; torn slabs of wood, empty barrels, the odd sail. Seagulls had perched themselves on these objects, eyeing her intently, waiting for to perish so they could pick at her eyeballs. She would have to shoo one away, when she had the strength, which was depleting rapidly by the hour.

Every now and then, Charlotte would slip under the water. Her eyes flickering closed, her grip loosening, she’d slip back into the water. She would slip into oblivion too, if she didn’t snap herself out of it and scramble back to the safety of the mast.

She had lost count of the days. She knew for certain that she had seen three sunsets, but could only recall two sunrises. Either she had been fast asleep, or her memory was failing her. To keep her wits about her she tried reciting old poems, ones she had ingrained in her brain from blissful days reading books in the fields as a child. To her dismay, she began to fumble over the words, forgetting a line here and there. The combination of her lack of energy, aching body, hunger, dehydration, and heatstroke were making her severely weakened.

She knew it was dreadful when she began to have conversations with the seagulls.

Her lips cracking, the skin on her arms peeling, she was tempted to give up, to fall into the water and let the depths claim her. She was in agony, her every muscle stiff and sore. However, the thought of the Parker children and Georgiana, alone on the other side of the world without a soul who knew them, broke her heart. She wasn’t even certain that the ship had made it through to Nassau unscathed, without another life lost overboard. She had to return to them, she had to fulfil her promise to Mary. With her vow fresh on her tongue, _‘you can trust me’_ , she held on for dear life.

Charlotte roused from another fitful and anguished sleep, her eyes fluttering open, only to be blinded once more by the blazing sun, the strength of which she had never known. It must have been midday, the sun at it’s peak, the exposed flesh on her arms and cheeks burning like a pig on a spit.

She stretched her hands one by one, as they had seized up once again. Her fingertips had shrivelled up like prunes, the skin imbedded with splinters from the blasted mast. As she gazed at her digits with foggy fascination, she spotted something moving on the horizon. Peering intently into the distance, she soon shook her head, believing herself to be willing something into existence, like a mirage of a spring in a desert. She’d imagined several things over the last few hours, including familiar voices whispering in her ear, stirring her from an agitated slumber.

She dared peek again and was stunned to see that the shape she thought she had conjured was truly real, and was in fact a ship. It was a grand ship, with three masts, and making great speed as well. The chances of the crew onboard spotting were slimmer than slim - they were near impossible - however she had to try. She hadn’t seen a single boat the entire time she’d been stranded, and knew deep down that she wouldn’t last much longer.

Kicking her feet below her, she was hoping to generate enough splashes to cause one person to look her way. It was a pathetic attempt, barely a ripple caused. She was weak, her movements sluggish. She prayed that the debris, which had started to spread out as the days passed, was going to spark curiosity.

“Here,” she tried to call out, her throat scratchy. Her voice was barely a croak, not even the seagull perched on the end of the mast batted an eyelid. “I’m here.”

Suddenly, with a stroke of ingenuity, Charlotte began to roll the mast back and forth. The seagull, startled by such an abrupt action, fled immediately, soaring into the air. The others that gathered followed their ringleader, sensing that their prey was now going to put up a fight. The flock of seagulls in the air would surely attract attention; where had they come from?

Worn out by all the excitement, her eyes fluttered shut. She forced them open shortly later, after what had felt like a couple of seconds. However, by the time they were open, she could no longer feel the water encompassing her, or the mast under her grip. Instead, she was laying down on the deck of a ship, an entire crew looming over her, disbelief written all over their features.

“She’s alive?” one of them gasped, his voice gruff.

Charlotte could barely lift a finger, let alone scramble to her feet. She could feel the darkness tugging at her again, her eyes threatening to fall shut.

The sun, which had still been bearing down on her, was suddenly blocked out by a figure stepping into view, peering down to inspect her. His features were vague, indistinct, her vision blurred. “No one is to touch not even a hair on her head, understood?”

The crew demonstrated their understanding by stepping backwards collectively.

The man, who she presumed to be the captain to have such dominion over the others, offered her a hand. It was calloused and rough, but she took it. It could have been the absence of her own strength, but he seemed to be exceptionally robust, hoisting her to her feet with little difficulty.

“What’s your name?” he asked, surprisingly soft.

She could barely utter a syllable before she took a stumble backwards. His quick reflexes stopped her from smacking her head on the deck, as he took her into his arms, lifting her off the ground. Her limbs dangling, the feel of his broad shoulders oddly comforting under her cheek, she slipped into oblivion again.

Not before, however, looking up at and realising that in her eagerness to be rescued, she had wound up on a ship with black sails. _A pirate ship._

-

When Charlotte next awoke, swathed in a warm if a little scratchy blanket, she had herself convinced that the ordeal in the ocean, clinging to the mast, had all been a terrible dream. She rolled over to see if Georgiana was awake, so that she could share her horrible and vivid nightmare, when her eyes landed upon unfamiliar surroundings.

Jumping to her feet, she felt her heart leap into her throat. She was in a confined space, a cabin by the looks of it. It was gloomy, dozens of candles casting an eerie glow over the room. She had been sleeping on a cot, the sheets fashioned from an old flag, bearing the British colours. As she trod with bare feet around the room, she was careful not to stand on the many objects strewn about carelessly; countless maps, empty rum bottles, the odd rotting treasure chest with glittering gold coins spilling out, dented chalices, jewellery made from authentic gemstones. A shiver ran down her back as she gulped, fitting the puzzle pieces together in her mind.

The answer only became clear when she, rather foolishly, swung the door open, only to be greeted by a crew of sneering, smirking pirates.

With a shriek she slammed the door shut, bouncing backwards. She could hear laughter outside, but what truly made her blood run cold was the chuckling she could hear _inside_ the cabin.

Turning slowly, she spotted a figure sat in the shadows that she had overlooked before. He was slumped in a chair, almost lazily, tossing a coin into his palm over and over and over. It glinted in the dim candlelight.

“Where am I?” Charlotte mustered the courage to ask. “Who are you?”

The man got up from his seat, and moved into the light. Charlotte had to refrain from gasping; he was undeniably good-looking. She had expected, from the caricatures she had seen in the newspapers, that all pirates were grisly, disfigured by boils and scars, teeth rotten, perhaps even the odd limb missing. However this pirate, for he was certainly dressed the part, a cutlass at his hip and a rugged beard, was, and she hated to admit it, handsome.

He was looking at her intently, his gaze causing her anxiety to shoot through the roof. “I’m the captain, and this here is my ship,” he answered, flipping the coin high into the air. He caught with one swift gesture, not once taking his gaze off of her. He seemed far too young to be a captain - he couldn’t have been older than twenty-eight. “Who might you be?”

About to answer, she caught sight of herself in a dusty mirror over his shoulder. Gasping, she was horrified to see she’d been stripped of her dress, left in her thin cotton chemise and corset. It was the barest she had ever been in front of a man, and was causing her to grow flustered. The captain sensed her discomfort, smirking as he pocketed his gold coin. She threw her arms across her chest, providing very little coverage, scowling.

“I take it you undressed me whilst I was sleeping?” she blurted out, furious. “Not that I’d expect any less from pirates.”

He found this rather humorous, snorting as he threw her discarded gown at her. Hurriedly, she pulled it on, finding solace in being covered once more. However, she quickly realised why it had been removed in the first place; it was sopping wet, succeeding in making her feel more at ease, yes, but also severely uncomfortable. The gown stuck to her curves, and sneaking another peak of herself in the mirror, she realised that it was revealing more than her undergarments had.

Once again, the captain was smirking at her. “You were shivering,” he explained, with a shrug. “I didn’t want you dying of pneumonia.” He pulled a chair out, and gestured for her to take a seat. “At least, not until I’ve got some answers.”

She ignored the chair and crossed her arms. “What kind of answers?”

“Who you are, why you were floating in the ocean, where’s the ship you came from,” he reeled off, still gripping the chair. “Now, sit.” His tone had become less cordial.

Reluctantly, Charlotte sat down on the chair, carefully brushing aside the incomprehensible map that had been laid down on it. The captain sat himself across from her on the desk, the candle in the middle illuminating him deliciously. He had a beard, not commonly seen amongst society, which succeeded in making him appear more rugged. His eyes were so dark they could have been mistaken for black, if tiny flecks of hale weren’t highlighted by the flickering flames. His lips were full, his hair the colour of brown sugar.

There was something else about him, something tugging at the inner corners of her mind. He was strangely familiar, as though she had seen his face in a passing crowd.

“Well?” he suddenly blurted. She realised that she hadn’t spoken a single word since she’d been sat down, and instead had been sat with arms crossed, staring at him.

Certain her cheeks had tinged pink, she shifted in her seat. “Well what?” she retorted, defiantly.

The captain raised an eyebrow at her. “Well, who are you?”

“Who are you?”

Her boldness clearly took him by surprise, as he furrowed his brow, shaking his head. “I’ve told you, I’m the captain. Which means, if you don’t start answering some of my questions, I can order this ship to be turned back around where you’ll be thrown back overboard where we found you!” He sounded exasperated. She was treading dangerous water, provoking a pirate, though wanted to ensure that he knew she wasn’t scared of him - even if she was actually rather petrified.

“I’ll give you a name, after I’ve troubled you for a drink of water. I am _parched._ ”

Within a matter of minutes, a tankard of rum had been placed in front of her, along with an unexpected, though still very much welcome, plate of food; a hunk of cheese, a piece of bread and a couple of slices of cold chicken. She was so famished, her stomach gurgling at the sight of something to eat, that she didn’t pause to think long about the quality of the food.

The whole time she was eating, forgoing the cutlery and instead piling the food into her mouth using her hands, she was aware of the captain watching from the corner of the room. He was in close conversation with another crew member, the pair of them muttering under their breath so that she wouldn’t hear.

The other sailor was very visibly drunk, swaying to and fro, occasionally burping. He had a mop of curly hair atop his head and narrow eyes that darted around suspiciously. He spotted Charlotte looking, and flashed her a wink. “Good day miss,” he greeted, wobbling over to her. “Glad to see you’ve recovered nicely.”

Unsure what to say to a drunken pirate, she smiled back. “And I’m glad to see that at least one person aboard this boat has manners.”

The pirate grinned sloppily at this, as he bent low to bow towards her. “Don’t let my shabby attire fool you,” he slurred. “I have more decorum in _*belch*_ my little finger than most society dandies. I was once - "

“That’s enough, Crowe,” the captain quickly dismissed, steering him towards the door. “Time to resume your post.”

Before leaving, Crowe tipped his hat in Charlotte’s direction. “ _Chiquita._ ” He continued mumbling in another language until the captain had to physically close the door on him. With a sigh, he took his seat across from her again, and propped his arms on the table.

“You have been fed, you have been watered - “

“This is rum. I won’t drink it.”

The captain slammed his fist down on the table, causing the objects on top to clatter. She flinched, watching for his next move with wide eyes. “We’re on the ocean, miles from land, what did you expect?” he roared.

“Something _other_ than rum.”

Composing himself, he reached forward and drank the rum in one swift gulp, as though afraid it would go to waste otherwise. Setting the empty tankard down with a satisfied sigh, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he turned his gaze back to her. "Alright, since you insist on being so uncooperative, I’d like to take a moment to assess what I’ve concluded about you.” He didn’t give her the opportunity to respond, instead pushing on without hesitation. "You’re English, that much is obvious, so you must have sailed from England. There’s always the likelihood of you sailing from the port in Spain that often sends ships this route, however Crowe called you something rather distasteful in Spanish just now and you didn’t bat an eyelid, so the chances of you having come from a Spanish-speaking country are slim. From your clothes and your accent, I’ve deduced you’re of the upper classes, meaning your destination will have been one of the more prosperous ports in the Caribbean. Merchant sailors are rather suspicious about having women on board, so to find passage you must have paid a pretty penny. Again, this is unlikely as you would have sought comfort on your voyage, and sharing a small ship with twenty or more lecherous sailors starved of female contact wouldn’t have been all that appealing.”

He paused to take a breath, seemingly stopping for confirmation. With Charlotte remaining silent, he continued.

"Therefore, you would have sought passage with the Navy, who have a soft spot for pretty little things in need. Now, I know of several Navy ships that make this route, but most are simply transporting cargo, ammunition, slaves and the such. You would have been sailing aboard something more luxurious, something to marvel at and gloat to your friends back home about. I have good information that one ship in particular, the pride and joy of the British Navy, left England some weeks ago. All of the above taken into consideration, I presume I am right in guessing you were a passenger aboard HMS Trustworthy?”

While his end verdict was somewhat true, how he came about it was sloppy and founded in speculation. As he sat, smugly, Charlotte contemplated her options quickly. She could admit everything, that she wasn’t highborn but a simple farmer’s daughter, and that she was a nanny sailing across the ocean to escort a wealthy developer’s children to Nassau. However, from the fervour in which he had divulged his assumptions, she guessed that he not only believed her to hail from the upper classes, he _needed_ her to hail from the upper classes. If that was going to keep her alive long enough to plan her escape, then she was going to play along.

“I was,” she told him, dabbing at her mouth daintily. Sitting up straighter, she placed her palms in her lap. “You presumed correctly.”

The captain’s eyes lit up, as he leant forward. “And your name?”

What he was after was a title. She had to be smart about the situation; too high a title and she would give herself away, too low and she’d be deemed unimportant. She also had to know sufficient information about who she was portraying, or else the rouse could be broken by the simplest of slip-ups. “Lady Susan of Worcester, although frankly I’m offended you didn’t recognise me.” The perfect disguise. Lady Susan was a dear friend, and wouldn’t mind at all about being impersonated - in fact, she’d find the whole tale rather riveting.

The captain was grinning from ear to ear, as though he had struck a goldmine. In his eyes, he thought he had.


	4. questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlotte is questioned by the ship's mysterious captain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so sorry for the delay! this covid situation has been insane, i'm sure fore everyone! my work has been impacted greatly, as not only am i not in lockdown, but my workload has doubled! my days are long, and when i do get to sit down to work i'm not really satisfied with what i've written. i want to ensure that my updates will be a little more regular, so have a few chapters built up and ready to go over the next few weeks.
> 
> i have also written an outline and a few chapters for a hunger games inspired au, if anyone is interested?
> 
> enjoy!

Unknowingly, a lifetime of telling bedtime stories and playing make believe, both as an older sister and a professional nanny, had prepared Charlotte for the astounding predicament she’d now found herself in.

She was quite adept at imitating people, having a particular knack for perfecting accents and gestures. It had been one of the ways she had bonded with Georgiana; the pair would go out into town, browsing shops and occasionally stopping for tea, when Georgiana would conjure up a character for her to play. Whilst it had seemed like harmless fun at the time, the practice pretending to be somebody else was now proving to be rather useful.

Lady Susan was a formidable woman, in her late thirties but looking no older than twenty-eight. She had all the wisdom of a woman much older, but a vibrant youthfulness about her that drew all kinds of people to her. Her positive and bright attitude, and with her warm tenderness made her a delight to be around. She was certainly one of Charlotte’s favourite people, which accounted for all the time they had spent in one another’s company, whether it be at balls, luncheons or just Sunday afternoons feeding the ducks in the park.

Her great fondness for Lady Susan paired with her talent for impressions made Charlotte hopeful, if not certain, that she would be able to sell her performance.

The captain was leaning forward in his chair, looking at Charlotte with great interest. He didn’t seem to have any fault with her claiming to be a titled woman, instead lapped her pretence up with feverish excitement - it was as though, she wondered, he wanted it to be real enough that he didn’t pause to consider the possibility that it was false. Why? She made a note of finding out, sooner rather than later.

“How long were you stranded in the sea, Lady Worcester?” he finally asked. His manners were now immaculate, no surprise there, and his probing less intrusive.

Conscious that she was now trying to pass herself off as a well brought-up Lady, Charlotte sat straighter in her seat, and clasped her hands in her lap. “I’ve lost count of the days. Possibly three?”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “You were adrift all that time?” Disbelief was dripping off his every syllable. “It’s remarkable that you have lasted so long, Lady Worcester, though I must admit you do look rather worse for wear.” Almost as if he had caught himself paying her a compliment, he quickly undercut it with something negative. Why, she wasn’t sure. To undermine her, remind her who was in charge? “And however did you find yourself, all alone, in the ocean? A high born lady such as yourself would surely have an endless stream of rescuers searching for you, day and night.”

“They must not have been looking hard enough.”

The captain smirked, even letting out a little chuckle. He tried to disguise it with a cough, but it was too late - she had heard it. It put her at ease, somewhat.

"My ship was caught in a dreadful storm,” she began. Whilst her accent before was hardly common as muck, she made sure she was pronouncing all her letters correctly, even elongating a few vowels here and there, hoping that she would sound more refined. “A mast threatened to knock a poor child overboard so I pulled him out of harm’s way just as the boat was tipped, causing me to fall into the water.”

“And the child?”

Her chest tightened. “Safe.” She couldn’t afford to consider anything other than that Henry was safe and sound.

“You rescued a child, not your own I’m presuming, and in the effort risked your own life?”

There was no way to admit to that modestly, but Charlotte certainly tried. “The risk wasn’t so great at the time,” she replied, in a considerably less confident manner. “The child is a sweet little thing, the son of a dear friend. I couldn’t have done nothing.”

The captain cocked his head at her, as though he was reevaluating his opinion of her. He went to say something, then just as the words formed on his tongue he changed his mind. Curiosity had gotten the better of him, and whatever compliment he was going to pay her slipped away. He propped himself on the edge of the table, a mere few inches away from her. She could smell the rum and tobacco clinging to his musty clothes, which made her feel slightly nauseous. His handsomeness didn’t lessen what he was; a stinking pirate.

“What was your destination, Lady Worcester, before you were waylaid?”

“Nassau.”

“Why Nassau?”

Charlotte never was a good liar, despite her aptitude for pretending - she didn’t like the idea of deceiving somebody. However, this situation was far beyond her usual routine, and so a lie would surely be an acceptable, if not encouraged, form of action. “I had planned on visiting a friend, Lady Denham. She’s recently acquired some property in Bahamas, as part of a new business venture, and she had tried to woo me with an investment opportunity at a ball last year. I’d told her that I’d have to see what I was getting myself into before I signed away my inheritance.”

The captain seemed more than thrilled with her answer. “Lady Denham? Her fortune was £300,000 last I heard.”

Charlotte shrugged. Lady Susan never really cared for money, so she wouldn’t either. “Lady Denham is stingy with her portion sizes at luncheons, so I imagine she’s the same with her finances.” That was the sort of thing Susan would say to her in the corner of a ball, the pair of them avoiding the high society hullaballoo.

The captain appeared to hold back another laugh. Was he attempting to intimidate her by remaining stoic, because he wasn’t doing a very good job.

“May I ask, Lady Worcester, if you are a Worcester by birth or marriage?” he asked, inquisitively.

Uh oh. Did he know of the family? Surely a lowly pirate, reeking of booze and stale sweat, wouldn’t know a thing about the Worcester lineage, or if he did it was only what everybody knew; they were filthy rich. She had to hope that it was the latter.

“Marriage, though before my betrothal I was a Middleton.” This was true; Susan’s father was the 2nd Baron Middleton, a Member of Parliament for Nottinghamshire. The Middleton’s were respected throughout the country, known to most people whose heads weren’t buried in the dirt.

“You didn’t marry Old Trout-Breath, did you?” he gasped.

Furrowing her brow, she pretended to be offended. “That nasty nickname is neither clever nor funny.” It was, for it was both accurate and amusing.

“Oh my, you did!” he exclaimed, curling his upper lip. He then quickly composed himself. “Forgive me, it’s a name I knew him by as a child.”

“Well, it’s not very nice.” Charlotte was certain that Susan had in fact popularised the nickname for her husband after he had humiliated her one evening in influential company.

A knock on the door suddenly caught their attention. The captain called out for the knocker to enter. In walked a toad-like man, short and stumpy, a few wisps of hair on his otherwise bald head. Round spectacles were propped on the tip of his nose, causing his eyes to bulge through the magnified glass.

“Ah, Dr Fuchs, finally,” the captain greeted. “What’s been keeping you?”

“Crowe _vas_ vomiting profusely below deck, _vhich_ set off a chain reaction among the rest of the crew,” he replied, in a thick German accent. He tinged a little green at the memory, only adding to his frog-like appearance. "I barely made it through unscathed.”

The captain frowned. “Well, what was ailing them?”

“Too much rum.”

The captains sighed; his legless crew hardly inspired much fear, which made him and the ship he was running appear almost immature, like a wannabe _Queen Anne’s Revenge_. Almost as if he was angry at Dr Fuchs for divulging this information, he hastily pointed to Charlotte. “Lady Worcester is here, I’d appreciate it if you would attend to her. Ensure she is in good health.”

Dr Fuchs quickly did as he was told, though made no attempt to hide his grumbles.

Charlotte did her best to cooperate with the poor doctor, who looked out of depths aboard a pirate ship. She coughed when instructed, allowed him to prod her eyes - she even took off her dress so that he could hear her heartbeat through her cotton chemise. She noticed over the doctor’s shoulder that the captain hadn’t left, merely sat behind the table, watching her intently. He didn’t even have the decency to look away as she sat in her undergarments.

“Didn’t see enough earlier?” she asked him, brazenly.

“No such thing as too much of a good thing,” he shrugged. His arrogance irked her, making her blood boil.

She was relieved when Dr Fuchs told her she could pull her dress back on - he even looked away as she re-dressed, which she found rather polite.

“Well?” the captain demanded.

“Lady _Vorcester_ is suffering from sunstroke and dehydration,” Dr Fuchs replied, packing up his equipment in his little bag. “I recommend she get some rest, and be given some _vater_.”

Charlotte’s throat shrivelled up at the mention of water. “I’ve been told this ship doesn’t have water.”

Dr Fuchs placed a gentle hand atop of hers. “You may dip into my personal supply, then,” he offered. “I _vill_ send a bottle or two up for you.”

“Thank you,” she replied, touched at his generosity. She felt guilty for comparing him to a toad.

The doctor gave her a warm smile, then shot the captain a scornful expression. “You are too hard on our guest,” he scolded. “She has been through so much unimaginable stress, and yet you question her relentlessly! She must be allowed to have some sleep.”

The captain sunk back a little into his chair, clearly not happy at being told off. He must have known that Dr Fuchs was right, however, as he then said, in a calmer voice; “You may take my cot again, Lady Worcester.”

Whilst Charlotte had some objections to sleeping in the unfamiliar pirate’s bed, especially with him still present in the room, her exhaustion was much too powerful a force to argue with. She was out cold in a matter of seconds when her head hit the pillow.


End file.
